All This Time
by Amphitrite II
Summary: A retired Bruce finally lets them be together. :::Batman/Superman slash:::


**All This Time  
****By Amphitrite II**

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**Summary:**_A retired Bruce finally lets them be together.  
_**Disclaimer:** This story is based on the DC Comics universe, its characters, and its situations, none of which I own.

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Bruce was well over fifty when he finally retired from his night job. It wasn't that he wanted to hang up the suit – but even he had to admit that he was becoming more and more of a liability as the nights piled up. No matter how much training he forced himself through, his reluctantly aging body simply could not keep up. Although he was still a threat to the average assaulter, he was simply not as fast, as flexible, and as strong as he had been during his peak years as the Batman.

If he had been anyone else, he would have fired him long ago, but his partners and colleagues respected him and feared him too much to force him out of battle. Except for Dick and Alfred, of course. It was they who had finally convinced him that he wasn't going to recover fully from the latest batch of broken ribs and displaced hips; they who had shoved him back into bed when he had insisted on patrolling Gotham despite that he had barely been able to walk at the time. His lack of strength compared to Dick's firm grasp had shamed him – and gotten him to finally shut up and submit to their demands.

But Bruce refused to be useless. He had dedicated his life to cleaning the streets of Gotham, and he would continue to do so through whatever means possible, physical weakness be damned. Immediately, he set himself up as an information guru after Oracle's design, freeing her up for Justice League and Birds of Prey work while he monopolized Gotham's crime-fighter network. He knew that what he did was important, but not being out on the streets himself still stung, even though he knew that his boys and their teammates were more than capable of doing what he had done alone for so many years. He didn't expect the feeling to ever go away.

A month after his retirement, he was compiling a list of suspects for one of Batgirl's cases when an unexpected call came through his line.

"Hey, B. Just wanted to let you know that I'm back."

Superman's voice was cheerful, striking a dissonant chord with the cold, dark atmosphere of the cave that had served as Bruce's sanctuary for so many years.

Bruce grunted in an attempt to calm his flailing heart, which had the annoying tendency to get needlessly overexcited by Superman's presence. It had been a while since he had exchanged words with the Kryptonian hero. He suspected that Superman didn't even know about his retirement. After all, he had left right before Batman's last night on the streets. Bruce had no idea how he was going to tell Superman that they would no longer be able to fight together on the battlefield, trouncing their mutual enemies as they guarded each other's backs.

"Your trip went reasonably well, I presume?" he asked to stall for time.

Superman had been on a mission to help end genocide on a planet in a neighboring solar system. Bruce had heard through the grapevine that the mission had been more difficult than expected, but Earth boasted enough heroes nowadays that a month-long absence of its greatest one was no longer a problem or vulnerability.

Following his question, Superman instantly launched into a telling of the strange traditions he had had to put up with in the past thirty days. Bruce found himself relaxing in his chair, letting Superman's strong voice tide over him. If he closed his eyes, he could even imagine Superman was standing in the same room as him, floating to the right of his chair, a hand on his shoulder, strong fingers that felt like fire burning through the armor of his costume –

Bruce snapped up in his seat, his body tense. Superman was still talking, now about alien technology he had brought back that he believed could be useful in the fight against cancer. Leaning back into his chair, Bruce sighed bitterly, a noise of self-deprecation. He was wearing a T-shirt. Not his uniform, just a plain old T-shirt. Because he wasn't Batman anymore. He was just Bruce Wayne, an old man whose body couldn't keep up with criminals. Bruce Wayne, a useless lump of flesh who his family still let hang around the Batcave because they felt sorry for him. He kicked the bottom of his computer console in frustration.

Superman's voice broke off in the middle of his story. "Bruce? Are you okay? Do you need help?"

With a sinking heart, Bruce realized that Superman must have thought he was on patrol and in the middle of some fight.

"I'm fine," he lied. He knew that he should tell his trusted comrade that he was officially out of commission, but he didn't know if he could bear to. How was he to admit to an invulnerable, possibly immortal being that the crime-fighting days of this half of the World's Finest was officially over?

"Alright, well, don't hesitate to ask for assistance if you need it," Superman replied cheerfully. Bruce grunted again, and apparently Superman took this as a sign that he could continue. Bruce sighed and tried to relax and just listen to the sound of Superman's voice again.

A few years ago, Clark had begun calling him frequently just to talk. At first, Bruce had been paranoid about this sudden change in behavior, not to mention irritated that Clark thought Bruce wanted to hear his musings about apple pie, stars, and the jokes that Jimmy Olsen shared with him. But after a while, Bruce became accustomed to the sunny voice in his ear and let it become a pleasant background noise while he worked. After all, Clark never seemed to mind whether or not he responded. In fact, two weeks after this odd new step in their friendship, Bruce had realized that Clark's initiation of conversation had coincided with the finalization of his divorce from Lois Lane. It appeared that Clark had merely been lonely.

Bruce didn't mind. In all honesty, Bruce didn't mind at all. He and Clark usually skirted around the issue, but they were both keenly aware of the strong current of attraction between them – one that had only increased in intensity with every year they worked together and became closer. Every few years, Clark would confront him about it, only to be turned away by Bruce time and again. There were always so many reasons it would never work out. And then there had been Lois. When she and Clark had gotten together, Bruce had believed that this stutter in his insistence on remaining a bachelor was finally over – Clark had given up on the chase, so Bruce would no longer have to torture himself over the idea. (Although the idea of Clark committed to someone else had been torture in itself for many years.)

But after the divorce, Clark had come to him again, pleading – and once again, Bruce had quietly insisted that he couldn't afford the distraction from his work, ignoring how much it hurt him to make Clark look that despondent. After that, they hadn't spoken of it again, but Clark had continued to call him to chat.

"This cat had three ears and feet like a pig's, though," Superman was saying. "Oh, and it was bright purple! Talk about weird."

"Indeed," Bruce said, mildly amused at the image of Superman saving an alien cat. After all these years, it still amazed Bruce how genuinely good Superman really was. Despite all their disagreements and wildly differing philosophies, it was this fact that helped Bruce to continuously put his faith in the Man of Steel. Superman had no personal motivation to help people who often alienated him, antagonized him, and even purposely searched for ways to hurt him – and yet he did it anyway, simply because he believed that it was the right thing to do. He may have been righteous, naïve, and irritatingly noble, but he was nothing if not genuine.

"All right, Bruce, I've got to go, but I'll catch up with you another time. We should have coffee sometime."

"Yeah," Bruce said absently as the line shut off, wondering how long it would be before Superman found out about his new job – or lack thereof. He was about to continue working on the Batgirl case when he heard a whisper of footsteps behind him, then the sound of a human flying through the air.

"He doesn't know yet, does he?" came Dick's voice as he landed gracefully behind Bruce's chair.

"He will soon," Bruce grumbled roughly, not bothering to scold his eldest son for eavesdropping.

"You know he deserves to hear it from you."

Bruce grunted but didn't go back to editing the report he was compiling. Leaning against the console, Dick met his eyes squarely. Bruce felt silly dressed in his workout clothes while Dick stood there in full regalia. "He's not going to reject you because you're not in action anymore, Bruce," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce cursed himself for training his former partner so well that he could read Bruce like an open book. He didn't say anything; he wasn't about to lie to Dick to deny his insecurity, but he certainly wasn't going to actively confirm it, either. Dick leaned forward to lay a hand on Bruce's shoulder gently.

"If anything, I think he's the one who should be afraid that you'll reject him again. You do realize that your best excuse is gone now, right?"

Bruce realized with a jolt that Dick was right. Without his night duty, he was suddenly bereft of the logical reasoning he had provided for Clark, over and over again, of why he had no room in his life for what Clark was asking for. Frowning, he clamped down on the warring panic and fluttery feelings at war within him.

"Not excuses," he defended lamely. Dick gave him a much too perceptive look and sprung away from the console to balance on one hand on a nearby table.

"Whatever," he said dismissively. "I just want you to do the right thing for once."

"I've spent the past thirty years of my life trying to do the right thing. I think I can handle it," Bruce shot back, mildly offended. Unfazed, Dick somersaulted onto another surface and started toward the stairs that led up to the Manor.

"I mean the right thing for yourself, Bruce," Dick said.

His words struck Bruce hard. He remained in his chair, unmoving, long after Dick closed the entrance to the cave behind him.

* * *

Superman visited the Batcave the next day, full of indignation, rage, and surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked in his booming, righteous Superman voice. Bruce winced and turned around in his chair reluctantly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Stop being a diva, Clark," he said, annoyed and strangely nervous. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Superman looked like he wanted to punch something, but Bruce didn't flinch again. "You know who I had to hear it from? The attendants at the Watchtower. They looked at me like I was insane when I asked if you had been around."

Bruce sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night. I was trying to, I swear, it just…didn't come out."

Superman crossed his arms and huffed, reminding Bruce of a sullen twelve-year-old Dick. "Right," he muttered, glaring at him. Bruce merely raised an eyebrow, unaffected. After a tense staring contest, the pout vanished into an expression of shame. "Bruce, I'm sorry," Superman said suddenly. "This isn't about me."

"Damn right it isn't," Bruce grumbled, but Superman ignored him.

"How are you coping?" he asked softly. Uncomfortable, Bruce turned back to the computer screen.

"Making myself useful. It's not like I have anything better to do," he said, annoyed._ Not that I even know what to do with myself other than be Batman,_ was left unspoken, but he had a feeling that Superman would know he was thinking it anyway.

He felt Superman move closer, and then a warm hand landed on his shoulder, just as it had in his idle daydream yesterday – only he was still just wearing a T-shirt. But in this very real moment, Bruce was absurdly pleased about the cotton shirt, since its thin material allowed him to feel Superman's warmth all the more strongly. It was as if his entire nervous system had been reconfigured to fit neatly under the skin that Superman's hand was merely one layer away from touching.

"Bruce," Superman said, and suddenly Bruce knew what he was about to say.

"No," he said flatly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Superman cried. Bruce tried to ignore his racing heart as his fingers flew over the keyboard to distract himself.

"Yes, I do," he said. "And the answer is still no."

"But why?" asked Superman, and Bruce wondered at Superman's masochism. He had given Superman, Clark, and Kal the same rejection speech at least five times. "It was always your job, Bruce. The mission, the patrols, the cases… You always said you had no time for relationships – but you the time _now_. Why won't you give us a chance?"

"My mission doesn't end just because I can't patrol anymore," Bruce growled.

"And I'm not saying that it does!" Superman shot back. "Jeez, it's not like I don't have cape business to take care of all the time, too. But you have _more time_ now. Why won't you let yourself be happy? If your problem is with me, then at least give someone else a chance. Give yourself a chance."

"There is nobody else," Bruce said before he could censor himself.

"What? Don't be silly, of course there is. You still have people falling for you all over the place, surely you must like one of them."

"No," Bruce interjected. He knew it was important that Superman understood. "You misunderstand, Clark. I meant that there is nobody besides you that I would…consider for the role."

"Oh," Superman said, sounding surprised. An awkward silence followed, punctuated only by the patter of keys. Bruce rolled his eyes. "Then, does that mean you want to –"

"No," Bruce interrupted. "I can't, Clark."

"Why the hell not?" Superman exclaimed, frustration coloring his voice. Bruce almost felt bad, but it wasn't his fault that the man refused to give up on the stupid notion that they belonged together. "God, Bruce, only you would take thirty years to admit that you like someone and then reject them anyway! What are you so afraid of?"

Bruce stilled. Because Superman was right. He had run away from his feelings all these years because they had terrified him. To be so attached to another person was a fatal weakness. It was a vulnerability, and Batman always overexerted himself to overcome each and every one of his vulnerabilities, physical and otherwise, shoving them aside to become the greatest crime-fighting machine possible for his city.

Only he wasn't Batman anymore, and this wasn't just any two-bit criminal: this was Clark, a man he respected as much as his sons. An incredible man who came back every time Bruce shot him down, who refused to lose faith in the direst of circumstances, both on and off of the battlefield. A man who gave so many people– including Bruce – hope for a better world. A man who gave so many people confidence in there being a greater good at all. A man from a distant planet who reminded humans of their real potential. A man who he argued and clashed with like no other – but also the only man other than his boys who ever came over just to talk or watch movies with him. A man who had never been afraid of him. A man who thought of him as neither Bruce Wayne the playboy billionaire nor Batman the Dark Knight of Gotham, but rather the sum of the two – _Bruce, _the man who excelled at chess, loved learning new things, felt shy in social situations, and still adored the Grey Ghost.

"Just one date, Bruce. Just give me one chance to prove to you that I'm worth it. That we can be so good together."

Bruce averted his eyes from Superman's determined expression. It hurt too much to see Superman fighting so hard for him. He shook his head slightly. "I can't, Clark," he whispered. Superman reeled back in – well, it couldn't be shock, Bruce thought sadly. And he made the mistake of looking up. The hurt in those too-blue eyes was a sour blend of disappointment, resignation, and weariness. In that instant, he hated himself for putting those emotions there, especially knowing that he could just as easily make them disappear.

"Fine," Superman snapped. "I don't know why I still bother after all these years. I'll see you around, Bruce."

And with a gust of wind and a streak of blue and red, he was gone.

Bruce sank back into his chair with a disgruntled sigh and wondered why he always messed up his own life even as he worked so hard to improve others'. Clark had been wrong about one thing, though. Bruce didn't just _like_ him; this was no temporary infatuation. He had made the mistake of dismissing it as such all those years ago when he had first met the infuriating Superman, and he had finally reconsidered after it hadn't disappeared in five years. No, he definitely had feelings for the Man of Steel, the depth of which he dared not ponder – not when Clark was so eager with his reciprocated feelings.

He thought about how both Dick and Clark were so adamant that he become romantically involved with someone. It was a ridiculous notion – that he needed some domestic relationship in his life for his mental health. Just because they both needed constant validation from significant others in their lives didn't mean that Bruce had to follow the same formula to be satisfied with his own life. Bruce had planned from the beginning to be alone. He was fine with being alone. He imagined waking up alone for the rest of his days and could find no fault in the thought.

But then, an image floated unprecedented into his mind – the image of waking up next to Clark for the rest of his life:

Opening his eyes to the vision of Clark, the sunlight frolicking across his tight muscles, his jet-black hair disheveled in a way that was a delightful mix of Superman and Clark Kent, his eyes half-shut but allowing a sliver of bright blue to shine through as he looked back at Bruce with trusting and happy eyes.

Awakening to find Clark's arm and leg thrown over him possessively, in a way that should have been stifling and annoying but was instead comforting and wonderful; Clark's body radiating a warmth that seeped through his skin and bones, right down to his soul; Clark's lips full and inviting, marked with kisses that Bruce himself had bestowed. Pressing himself against that perfect body, feeling all of their parts fitting together like long-lost puzzle pieces as Clark pulled him into a kiss that was powerful and gentle and hot all at once, like the man himself.

Making love to the most beautiful being on the planet, all the while knowing that he was entitled to such things because Clark loved him – knowing that he was the _only one_ entitled to such things, because Bruce Wayne, formerly known as Batman, was the _only one_ that Clark loved like this, like cleansing fire burning through their souls and purging them of all the evils, the tragedies, the bitterness they had encountered in their tumultuous lives.

Lazing around in the afterglow, Clark insistent on sappy cuddling nonsense and Bruce refusing but being enticed to hold and be held by Clark anyway (all the while pretending to find Clark's sentimentality stupid when he really just loved the feeling of being treasured). Lounging in bed talking, Clark trying to make him laugh, making him feel like more than just a billionaire and a retired crime-fighter. Making him feel more like himself than he had ever let himself feel before.

With a start, Bruce opened his eyes. The image faded away as the real world came into focus, and he was suddenly assaulted by a relentless wave of loneliness. Suddenly very much aware of the gaping void in his heart, he realized the truth that he had buried so deeply within him for so long – that while he could live alone and romantically unattached for the rest of his life without complaint, he also had the opportunity to have something better. Something for which a tiny part of him jumped at the chance – to have someone to cherish, someone to talk to, someone to maybe even laugh with.

No, not just anyone – it had to be Clark. It was Clark who he wanted to laugh with, Clark who he wanted to cherish as more than just his best friend and one of his closest allies.

Nervously, Bruce reached for the phone button on the computer.

"Clark? I need you to come back here. It's important."

There was a long silence.

"Clark, I know you're there. Cave. Now."

Clark sighed forlornly over the speaker. "I don't know, Bruce. I don't really feel up to dealing with you right now."

Bruce felt a guilty stab in his chest at the words, but he pushed on with his secret weapon. "Please, Clark."

Check and mate.

"All right," Clark said, clearly reluctant but surprised at his insistence.

The two minutes Clark took to get back to the Batcave were some of the most nerve-racking of Bruce's very suspenseful life. When he finally arrived, Superman hovered by the waterfall uncertainly.

"What is it, Bruce?"

Bruce stood up and gestured for Superman to sit in his chair. He did so, albeit with a guarded expression. Pacing, Bruce did his best to calm his nerves, took a breath, then got down on his knees. Clark blinked owlishly at him, lifting his hand to adjust glasses that weren't there, clearly startled at the uncharacteristic gesture.

"I'm sorry. I'm an idiot," Bruce said bluntly. "I know this is a far stretch, but will you go to dinner with me?"

"Bruce, you just said – You can't – " Clark's expression was one of utter disbelief and confusion. Taking another deep breath, Bruce barreled on.

"No, Clark, listen to me. Don't let me screw this up again. You're the one I want to be with. You asked for just one date, but I want more than that. I want to wake up next to you," he said. "On a regular basis," he added nervously. "If you'll let me."

Clark shook his head, and for a second, Bruce panicked wildly, terrified that he had just poured his heart out for naught. But then he saw the smile on Clark's face.

"Oh, Bruce. How do you go from rejecting someone for one date to asking them for a lifetime commitment? Let's take it slow, okay? I really want this to work."

"Me too," Bruce whispered. "Don't let me be stupid again."

Clark chuckled and pressed a warm hand to his cheek, his thumb caressing Bruce's five o' clock shadow, strong but gentle. "I'll try, but you're a stubborn bastard sometimes."

"I know," Bruce said, memorizing the feel of those large, powerful, and surprisingly soft fingers on his skin, in case either of them changed their minds and he was never allowed to experience the sensation again.

"Does this mean I can kiss you now?" Clark asked shyly. Bruce nodded, his heart racing at the idea; he wondered vaguely if Clark could hear it, if he knew really how strongly he affected Bruce. And then he didn't wonder anything anymore, because Clark's lips were pressing against his own, and it was like he had been living his entire life crooked and had finally been set upright. Clark was shy and maddeningly hot all at once, just like he'd imagined, and Bruce suddenly understood why people wrote whole novels and songs about being in love, because there was nothing better than this feeling of completion – of loving and being loved back. But those authors and songwriters didn't understand, because they hadn't waited thirty years for their first real, meaningful kiss. And Bruce knew that no matter what, he wasn't going to let himself mess this up, because Clark was everything he hadn't known that he was looking for, and his mouth, so warm and wet and pliable and loving, touched places within him that none of his sexual conquests had ever been able to.

And then Clark was lifting them out of their awkward position and pressing his inhumanly fit body against Bruce's, moaning into his mouth _because of Bruce_, and _god, Bruce wanted him right here, right now._

But this was just what he had feared all these years – that once he had gotten a taste of Clark, he wouldn't be able to do anything else; wouldn't be able to concentrate, wouldn't be able to work, wouldn't be able to continue his Bat-life, for lack of a better term.

"Clark," he gasped between kisses. "Slow, remember? I… I have to work."

Clark pulled back and looked him in the eye. They both knew this was a major test of their resolve and an indication of whether or not they would work out.

"Okay," Clark said, not sounding bitter or irritated at all, to Bruce's pleasant surprise. He felt a rush of relief, coupled with strong affection for this man who was unlike any he had ever met. "I do, too. But... Dinner on Friday?"

"Yes. Meet me here. I'll make reservations in Gotham for us."

"Okay," Clark said again. "I'll see you then."

Neither of them let go.

"One more for the road?" Clark whispered into his ear, extending his tongue mischievously to trace the shell of his earlobe. Bruce captured his lips once more, lost in the idea that this was Clark, he was finally kissing Clark.

When Alfred came down to check on him later, he was still smiling like a loon.

* * *

"That one makes you look like a sleaze."

Bruce rolled his eyes as he added another tie to the "no" pile and grabbed another one from his closet. Behind him, Tim was on a laptop working on a case while Dick practiced handstands idly on the carpet.

"You look like an old geezer now," Dick commented, eying his outfit critically. Tim looked up from his work to frown.

"I think it looks dignified."

Dick snorted playfully. "I'm not sure Bruce should be trusting your taste."

"Look who's speaking, Mister Scaly Underpants and Disco Collar," Tim retorted.

"Hey, I was just a kid!" Dick protested. Bruce chuckled at the memory of Dick's outrageous and flashy costume designs as he tried on another tie.

"I like that one," Tim said when he turned around. Dick nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely. It'll get you laid tonight for sure."

"Dick!" Bruce and Tim exclaimed. Dick laughed and flipped upright.

"Relax, guys. I'm just kidding. But Timmy, I'll bet you twenty dollars that Clark will stay over tonight," Dick said with a cheeky grin. Bruce growled, but Dick only did a one-handed cartwheel across the room. "What? You guys are way overdue."

"I'll have to agree with Dick there," Tim admitted, giving Bruce a smile. "I'm glad things are finally working out between you two."

"Thank you, Tim," Bruce said. "I am, too." He didn't say, "Don't let me mess this up," but he was sure that they understood. They had come over to help once Alfred had reported that he was nervous and panicking – which was clearly an exaggeration because Bruce was perfectly in control of himself. The dozens of ties and suits and hairstyles and colognes he'd gone through today were hardly an accurate measure for his sanity, after all. He simply wanted to look his best for Clark.

Speaking of, the man would be arriving any minute now. Bruce had made reservations for 7:30 p.m., which should give Clark enough time to fly in from Metropolis and change.

"Bruce, you're pacing," Dick noted with amusement. Bruce scowled, but he didn't stop.

"You're sure the cologne isn't too much? Clark does have super-scent after all…"

"Bruce!" Tim barked suddenly. Bruce stopped in his tracks. "You look great. You smell great. Clark is already in love with you. He has been for decades. So stop worrying. Just work on not pissing him off."

"Jesus, what if we argue?" Bruce mumbled. He was so anxious about tonight that he didn't even have room to be embarrassed about behaving like a teenage girl on her first date in front of his sons. Bruce had been on plenty of dates – just not ones that actually _mattered_ to him.

Shaking his head, Dick marched Bruce over to the armchair and made him sit down. "And _stay,_" he said, just as the chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the mansion.

"Damn it, that's him. I can't do this. Dick, go tell him that I changed my mind."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Not likely," he said. "Control yourself while I go grab him. Timmy, make sure he's still alive by the time Clark's ready."

"Yup," Tim intoned from the bed. Dick disappeared out into the hallway, and Bruce tried his best to calm his racing heart for fear that Clark would hear it and laugh at him. "Hey, Bruce?" Tim said, disrupting the brief silence between them. Bruce grunted. "What made you change your mind? You know, about Clark?"

Bruce turned to look at the son that was most like him and knew that his answer would be both honest and simple, in terms that Tim would understand.

"I weighed the benefits of being with and without him, and there was a clear winner."

Tim nodded thoughtfully before turning back to his laptop. Hearing Dick call his name from the stairs, Bruce got up. Tim joined him.

"I want to stay hello to Clark," he said, and Bruce was reminded suddenly of the fact that his sons now worked alongside the Man of Steel while he could not. He squashed the bitter, useless feeling, remembering his desire to wake up with Clark in the morning – and the very real memory of kissing him.

Bruce and Tim met Clark and Dick in the hallway, with Dick talking a mile a minute to his childhood idol. Bruce's breath caught at the sight of Clark in a perfectly tailored navy blue suit that made him look clean cut, elegant, and simply gorgeous.

"Hi, Bruce," he said shyly, cheeks flaming at Bruce's blatantly appreciative look. "Hey, Tim. Where's Damian?"

"Hey, Clark. He couldn't make it. Said he was nobody's fashion consultant." Bruce rolled his eyes as Clark processed this knowledge with a frown.

Dick clapped his hands together. "You crazy kids ready to roll? Alfred's in the car waiting."

"Don't stay up," Bruce said with a wink, following Clark down the stairs. As soon as they were out of earshot of the boys, Bruce complimented Clark on his appearance. Clark blushed again before leaning in for a kiss and returning the compliment.

As they got into the car, Bruce steeled his nerves. He could do this.

* * *

To Bruce's pleasure, being on a date with Clark was remarkably easy. They always had something to talk about, they bantered easily as old friends should, and Clark (sometimes infuriatingly) possessed the uncanny ability to make Bruce laugh. The food was great, the view was great, and their knees were just barely touching underneath the table. They were even only assaulted by two reporters. By the end of the meal, Bruce was almost convinced that this would actually work out. Things felt right with Clark; with him, it felt like the rest of the world just fell into place. In that moment, Clark reached across the table to squeeze his hand as if he knew what Bruce was thinking.

Bruce couldn't help but smile.

* * *

They tumbled into bed, tossing ties and suit jackets and belts behind them. Clark's mouth against his own tasted like strawberries and sunshine, and his warm hands ripped Bruce's shirt open impatiently. Bruce had never been so turned on in his life as he moaned into Clark's neck while Clark attacked his own with enthusiasm.

"No clothes," Bruce panted, an order that came out sounding like a plea. "Now."

With a gust of wind and a blink of the eye, the two men were stripped of their clothing. Clark straddled him, gazing at Bruce's body with reverence as his hands traced over the contours of his torso. Bruce held his breath as Clark evaluated him, his eyes taking in the pale skin, the myriad of scars, the irritating signs of old age. Clark's own body was Apollonian, smooth skin stretched over endless muscles, hard, warm, proud, and timeless all at once.

"You're beautiful," Clark whispered.

Silently, Bruce shook his head, filled with wonder that an alien orphan, a humble farmboy, a savior and a symbol of hope for the entire planet, would choose to love him so much that even after being rebuked so many times in so many years, he had never given up hope that things would work out between them. Well, except for the Lois thing, Bruce thought sourly. But a kiss brought him back to his senses – because Lois wasn't the one that Clark was exploring with his mouth, tongue lapping at his nipples, lip against his hip bones, mouth hovering over Bruce's erection briefly before consuming him completely.

Bruce cried out at the sensation and couldn't keep himself quiet as Clark proceeded to make him feel like the most important person in the world.

"Don't be stupid. You're the beautiful one, Clark," he groaned, the last syllable escalated embarrassingly as Clark did something amazing trick – Bruce wasn't sure the human mouth was capable of it – with his tongue. Clark chuckled with delight, turquoise eyes glinting mischievously up at him.

God was he glad that he had finally come to his senses and grasped the chance to do this with the only man he had ever truly wanted so wholly and completely all these years.

When he climaxed, he cried out Clark's name and squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt himself. Without notice, he hauled Clark up to attack his mouth with fervor, letting his tongue say for him all that he could not. He rolled them over, taking Clark into his hand and continuing the silently loving conversation that he knew Clark understood perfectly.

* * *

Bruce emerged from his slumber slowly, warmer than usual. Next to him lay Clark, the bed sheets barely covering his smooth skin, one of his arms slung casually across Bruce's middle. Bruce's heart stuttered stupidly – this was it, his dream morning was here. Light danced across Clark's sun-kissed skin, painting it gold and ivory. His face was peaceful in slumber, vulnerable yet strong.

Bruce didn't know how long he lay there, just watching Clark sleep, but he couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from the magnificent being from the stars who had chosen him, of all people. In all their years of knowing each other, he had never had the opportunity to just _look_ at the man who had haunted him and his heart for nearly his entire adult life.

Eventually, Clark opened his eyes, meeting Bruce's with clarity and undisguised delight.

"Hi," he whispered, a blinding smile gracing his ridiculously perfect features. Bruce's heart fluttered foolishly. This was real. This was really happening. Oh god, he sounded like a teenage girl in his own head. This was embarrassing.

"Hey," he replied, reaching over to run a hand through Clark's slightly tousled hair, astounded at the prospect of having the privilege of doing so. Clark edged closer to him, the arm around him tightening as he leaned in to kiss Bruce sweetly. It was slow and lazy and warmed him from head to toe. They kissed for what felt like centuries, but Bruce never wanted it to end. After all, they had thirty years of kisses to make up.

And as they tangled under the covers, Bruce realized that this was what he had needed, all of those years. Someone to share his life with, someone to share his secrets with, someone who understood and accepted Batman – but who loved Bruce more. Someone who respected the symbol but loved the man.

Someone to remind him in the morning that the world – _his life_, _not Batman's life_ – was worth waking up to.

Bestowing kisses down Clark's chest, Bruce shifted his hand to cup Clark roughly between his legs. "You dirty old man," Clark teased even as he leaned into Bruce's touch with a soft moan. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Never," Bruce swore fiercely, eyes locked on his lover's.

"I can live with that," Clark replied with a cheeky grin. His hands felt warm and wonderful on the bare skin of Bruce's back. Bruce wriggled closer, letting go of Clark in favor of tracing the musculature of his arm.

"I'm not giving you a choice," he said mock-seriously, resting his head on Clark's chest.

With that, Clark burst into laughter. "There's nobody like you," he said fondly, wrapping Bruce's body tightly against his own, as if he were trying to absorb him into his being. And to Bruce's surprise, he found that he was okay with that. "I kept trying to find love in other places, but it always came back to you. All this time, I've loved you, and now, I can finally show you how much."

"I look forward to it," Bruce said huskily, drawing him into another kiss.

Maybe Bruce couldn't be Batman anymore – not really, anyway; this information consultant business distanced him too far from the battlefield, as far as he was concerned – but it was just as well. He decided then and there that aside from aiding Gotham's crime-fighters, his mission from now on would be to make up for lost time, to show Clark that he didn't regret going down this path one bit.

Clark deserved it.

Because after all this time, Clark still wanted him.

And after all this time, they still fit together perfectly, connected with a bond that far superseded the warm link between warriors, companions, friends, and even lovers – a union that made the disjointed and distorted pieces of Bruce's soul click into place and quietly announce, "Aha! This is the one for you."

It was only after all this time that Bruce finally realized what he had been missing throughout all those dark, lonely years: Clark wrapped around him, smiling at him like sunshine, letting him know that he was loved – wholeheartedly, unconditionally, eternally.


End file.
